


La Vie en Rose

by CrazyCait



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Eristine, F/M, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyCait/pseuds/CrazyCait
Summary: She always knew the choice wasn't going to be an easy one, but it wasn't until after she had seemingly made it that she started to realize she had made the wrong one. Eighteen months after the events beneath the Paris Opera House, she is still tormented by what she left behind. After all, how can one choose between their heart and their soul?
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Kudos: 19





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I'm utter Phantom trash currently and NEEDED a better resolution for all my phangirl feels than LND... because... yeesh. So prepare yourselves for A LOT of fluff and conflict resolution because lord knows these bbies have been through enough angst to last a lifetime. minor angst is probably inevitable because I mean... Erik is Erik.... but y'know. if ya want some feels goodsies... I intend to deliver cute shit. 
> 
> tldr: imagine Love Never Dies... but better, where everyone isn't a complete idiot, and doesn't make truly dumbass decisions or act COMPLETELY out of character and instead people are MORE mature instead of less as time goes on?

Prologue: 

_ God give me courage to show you _

_ You are not alone _

Her fingers weren’t trembling anymore as she reached out, taking his face in her hands. The fear was gone. Fear of him, fear of what he might do, fear of the imminent choice she knew she was going to have to make.There was no choice. She knew what she had to do. Pulling him to her she pressed her lips to his and kissed him. She was ready for that, ready to do what she had to to make sure Raoul lived. She couldn’t let him die, not like this, not for her, not when he was so much more sure of her than she was of herself. She was prepared for that. It was the next moment that caught her off guard. The moment when he returned the kiss, the way it felt when he touched her; so gentle and yet so urgent, like the fulfillment of a promise she hardly remembered making and could never forget. 

He was the one trembling now. His hands shook as his arms moved ever so slowly to enfold her, as though he were afraid that should he move too quickly the dream might shatter and she might evaporate before him as she always seemed to do in his dreams. He flinched slightly when he felt her thumb gently brush over the distorted scars on his cheek but she did not relinquish him, and he clung to her, desperate for this moment to last forever. He pulled her closer, one arm still encircling her waist as the other hand moved slowly up into the tumbling waterfall of curls down her back. She didn’t protest, one of her arms slid round the back of his neck as she deepened the kiss. The other though remained in place, gently caressing the face he thought no soul could ever bear to touch.

Her heartbeat had quickened, and she could feel a deep warm sort of feeling rising within her. Her whole body seemed to shiver and tingle. It was far from the first time she had been kissed; but this was somehow… different. She had stolen kisses from Raoul, sweet and warm and loving, the kind of kisses that made her heart flutter and soar with hope and joy. But this was different; deeper, the kind of kiss you feel in your gut, in your bones, in your soul. Time seemed to stall and everything but the pair of them was mere background. He had forgotten everything else, everything but holding her in his arms, nothing else mattered, nothing else was real. This was heaven, his own personal heaven. The only heaven he would ever know.

But monsters do not get to go to heaven.

He knew that, how many times over had he learned it. Too many. This, her, this moment, this was the dream, and everything else was what was real. The beautiful, gallant young man staring at the pair of them in horror, the one she meant to save by this, the one she wanted. That was real. The shouts and hollers of a mob which were now becoming audible even from the depths of his lair, that was real. And she was real; exquisite and beautiful, utterly perfect, an angel. His angel… but yet, not his. For you cannot clip an angel’s wings.

He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes even before he opened them. He pulled her closer, holding her tighter, clinging to her for one more moment, before he found the strength to push her away. Their eyes met for a moment, hers full of a kind of pained confusion she couldn’t begin to understand or explain. He had pushed her away, broken the spell …. But now the world was shifting back into focus around her but her head was spinning more than ever. She barely knew what was happening as she watched him wrench a burning candle from its holder and cross purposefully to where her fiance stood, noose around his neck and a look of abject horror written across his face. Tears spilled from her eyes as she looked pleadingly from one to the other of them. 

For a moment none of them moved, the tension filling the air like smoke. He watched her, tears slipping down her cheeks, and knew, for once without a shadow of a doubt what he had to do. So, gathering his strength and saying one final farewell to his heart, to hope, to happiness, to her…. He moved the candle and burnt the rope from which the noose hung. The Viscount dropped to his knees, sputtering and coughing as he pulled the noose from around his neck. Without a moment’s hesitation, she was at his side. Her lungs filling with air again as she breathed properly for the first time in what felt like an incredibly long moment. He was alive. He was safe. Everything was okay, he was going to be okay. Everything would be alright.

_ “Take her, forget me. Forget this place.”  _

What? Her attention snapped back to the man now speaking from the massive throne like chair. He seemed to have crumbled into it; all of his anger, his fervor, his ferocity; gone. The ghost of a ghost. No… that wasn’t the deal. That wasn’t what they had agreed.

_ “Leave me alone. _

_ Forget what you’ve seen!  _

_ Go now, don’t let them find you.” _

He wasn’t looking at her… not at either of them. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He wasn’t even talking to her… he was talking to Raoul… telling him what to do. He had done it again. Changed the rules again. Her head was spinning more than ever. Everything was happening so fast…. 

_ “Take the boat -  _

_ Swear to me never to tell,  _

_ of the secret you know  _

_ of this _ **_angel in Hell_ ** _!” _

She was shivering again, tears streaming down her face. She could see it in his body, hear it in his voice; the excruciating pain that each word was causing him. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. For once her voice had failed her. Raoul was dragging her to her feet, pulling on her arm, tugging her towards the boat.

**_“GO! GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!”_ **

His voice was a howl of pain and she felt another wave of sobs wrack her body as she heard it. She nearly sank back to her knees save for Raoul’s arm around her keeping her steady. No… no, this wasn’t what she wanted either… not like this..

Raoul held her tight as he helped her into the boat, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the sound of his heartbeat, the feeling of his arms around her. But her lips still tasted of that kiss and her body still burned everywhere his hands had touched her. Raoul helped settle her into the boat, kissing her head and then her hands before he made to push off across the underground lake. Shaking herself she wiped a few tears from her cheeks and felt the cool band of metal around her finger, the ring…. His ring. 

“Stop.” She said finally finding her voice. Raoul looked up in surprise. “Stop.” She said again, getting to her feet. He made a sound of protest but she ignored him, hopping over the side of the boat into ankle deep, ice cold water. Raoul was calling after her, confusion and fear in his every word but she couldn’t explain why she had to do this. “Just wait for me.” she called back over her shoulder “Just wait, please, I need to… I’ll be back. I promise.” And there it was, a promise. She had promised. Something to fall back on if nothing else could pull her away, force her to make the right choice. Do the right thing. Right? Raoul was the right thing.Wasn’t he? He had to be. 

She found her way back quickly, the hem of her gown still dripping wet, and saw him immediately, abject and despondent, cradling the small musical box with a monkey poised atop it. It would have been sweet, if it didn’t utterly break her heart. She took a few tentative steps towards him, and hearing her, he looked up. Scrambling to his feet, his heart filled with a momentary,absolute and impossible hope. Wordlessly, as she still didn’t trust her voice, still didn’t even know what to say, her shaking hands slid the ring from her finger and held it out to him. His eyes fell to it and she saw his world of hope come crashing down once more. He gazed at the small ring in her hand for a moment before he reached out a hand and closed it delicately around her’s. Achingly slowly, his eyes moved to meet her gaze as he looked into the eyes that held his whole world for what he knew would truly be the last time. 

_ “ _ **_Christine_ ** _ ….. I .. Love you.” _

Her lip trembled and a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know, but he had never said it, not to her, and the softness of his voice, it was almost more than she could bear. They stood like that for a while hands clasping hands, neither willing to let go. Until somehow, at last they did, her hands slipped slowly from his, and he tore his eyes from her and turned away. She too turned, and moved a few steps in the direction from which she had come before she froze; unable to move forward just as she was unable to turn back. She willed herself not to, and yet her head began to turn, to look back …..but then Raoul was there, taking her hand and pulling her back out of the darkness and into the light, leaving her  **_Angel of Music_ ** behind. 


	2. Time Crawls By

Chapter 2: Time Crawls By

Christine woke with a start, her body shivering in a cold sweat. She had been dreaming, again. Though about what she couldn’t recall, and if she was honest with herself that was probably for the best. Propping herself up on an elbow, she glanced over at Raoul, sleeping soundly beside her. She often envied him that, his peaceful sleep… It wasn’t something that Christine enjoyed, ever really. Her sleep when she managed it, was fitful, and full of dreams she couldn't remember that left her wide awake and shivering in the cold night air. Just like tonight. Running her fingers through her dark curls, she sat up properly, and snatching up her white dressing gown she slipped out of bed and threw it over her shoulders. Tugging it tightly around her, she padded across the darkened bedroom, she pulled open one of the ornate french doors and stepped out onto the balcony. 

The breeze ruffled through her hair, and she took a deep steadying breath, breathing in the scent of the cool night air, as the comforting music of Paris at night filled her ears and brought her back from that strange state in which her dreams always left her. She took another deep breath and pulled her dressing gown tighter around her. The air was chilly but she barely noticed it. Opening her eyes she glanced around, a soft smile forming on her lips. She loved the city at night, the lights and the sounds. It always felt as though she were in on its secrets, the secrets only known by those awake when the rest of the world slept. It seemed almost funny to her now that she had ever feared the dark or felt anything but affection for the night. Perhaps it was simply the frequency with which she was acquainted with it these days, sleeping as little as she did. Then again, perhaps it was something else altogether. 

Swallowing that idea, she pushed the thought aside, but her eyes still drifted off in the direction of the Opera house. It had been eighteen months since she had last set foot there, eighteen months since that disastrous night. Even in the days that followed; when she saw smoke in the distance, even when she saw the newspaper headlines stating that Paris’s famed Opera House had been ravaged by a horrible fire… she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go back. Though she had managed to keep an eye on the newspapers in case any other strange or disturbing occurrences there found their way into the news, but all had been quiet since. Not a bit of news, except that restorations following the fire were well underway. …..though that had been over three months ago… probably nearly finished now, she supposed. 

The wind picked up again, making her shiver, as she looked out over the beautiful city once more before turning and entering the bedroom, closing the door silently behind her. She wasn’t entirely sure why they were even still here, in Paris. There had been plenty of opportunity, plenty of time, they could have gone away, gone anywhere. Raoul would have liked nothing better; to put the city behind them, but he would have done anything for her. It was a testament to that fact that he had agreed to stay. Because Christine couldn’t go. She simply couldn’t. The city still held her captive in some strange way. She adored it; even after everything that had happened. It was her home. It was a blessing that the Viscount de Changy’s townhome was far enough that the Opera House was out of view; if not, it might really have been too much for the both of them. But they had moved to the other side of town, to a beautiful home and time had moved on. 

Yes, time had moved on, plenty of it. Plenty of time to have left had they wanted… plenty of time for other things too… Christine reminded herself with a glance at the engagement ring on her finger and a twinge of guilt. It really was unfair of her to have kept putting it off, and Raoul had been such a darling about the whole thing; utterly understanding, never pushing her… and yet every time she had tried to finalize a date she had panicked and asked for more time. But no more, she reminded herself sternly. No more floundering, she had made her choice. Not wanting to worry him anymore and to at long last put the rumors to rest, (Even in Paris there were plenty who balked at the idea of a young woman, theatrical type or not, living unwedded with her fiance for over a year.) She had at long last agreed to the 13th of the following month. One month from today, she realized as she heard the clock striking one, and felt something in her stomach twist uncomfortably. _Just nerves_ . She insisted as she made her way back towards the bed and her sleeping fiance. _Perfectly normal, totally common, nerves. Every bride to be has them…. They must. …. Mustn’t they?_

Standing at the foot of their bed she gazed at him, a stripe of moonlight shining in across his beautiful face resting peacefully. She loved him, truly she did. That was never in question. Moving to the side of the bed she leaned over him and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He didn’t stir. With a gentle smile, she straightened up, and crossed to her side of the bed; knowing sleep wouldn't find her any time soon she retrieved a book from the bedside table and moved silently back into the sitting room portion of their master suite. Curling up onto a chaise and throwing a blanket over herself, Christine lit a candle and opened her book. Content to read until dawn. 

* * * * 

“Madame?” 

The timid voice of her maid and the gentle hand on her shoulder brought Christine slowly back to consciousness. Blinking once or twice and looking around her, she realized she had fallen back to sleep, book still in hand, and the candle by which she was reading long since burnt down to nothing. She was silently grateful for a moment that it hadn't somehow caught fire to the house as she slept, on top of everything else another of her dwellings being engulfed by fire would be hard to explain away, to say the least. Sunlight was streaming in through the high windows, which had been flung open, allowing a gentle breeze to billow lightly through the long blue, satin drapes. Rubbing at her still bleary eyes, Christine shifted herself, sitting up and kicking off the blanket. 

“Good morning, Adeline;” she offered groggily by way of morning greeting.”What time is it?” 

“Nearly Ten-Thirty Madame.” She hadn’t intended to sleep that late, she hadn’t really intended to sleep anymore at all. But at the realization she glanced towards the bed she shared with Raoul. “The Viscount has already risen, Madame. He went out early, but said he didn’t want to wake you. Though he said he would be back by lunchtime should be free by lunchtime should you wish to join him at La Petite Sirène.” 

“Merci, Adeline.” Christine replied with a kind smile. Her maid really was excellent, especially for such a young woman, she couldn’t have been more than twenty, but Christine had seen her work as hard as any seasoned servant and her knack for anticipating one’s needs was extraordinary, more often than not she had answered a question before Christine had the chance to to pose it. “I should be lost without you!” she added giving the girl’s hand and affectionate squeeze, before getting to her feet. 

Thanks once again to Adeline’s efficiency, Christine was fully dressed before Eleven O’clock. She breakfasted lightly, taking only coffee and two slices of toast in the drawing room as she perused the day’s mail. Nothing much out of the ordinary… the morning news, a couple of official looking papers addressed to Raoul, and one small letter, addressed to her in a delicate, curling hand. Recognizing the writing, Christine tore it open immediately, beaming at its contents. 

_My Darling Christine,_

_I hope this letter finds you truly and completely happy and well! Mama and I saw the announcement in the paper the other day that you and the Viscount had finally set a date, and we’re just ever so happy for you! I know we haven’t spoken much since … everything~... but I hope you know we love you, and miss you dearly! If you’re at all free, do come to tea on Friday! Or any day this week! We should dearly love to see you again! Much love._

_Your devoted friend,_

_Meg Giry_

Crossing quickly to the small table in the corner on which she kept a bit of stationary, Christine quickly jotted down her reply, eagerly accepting the invitation for Friday. She reached for the bell to ring for the butler but then changed her mind and tucked the letter into the pocket of her dress. She would post it herself. There was an hour or two at least until she was due to meet Raoul for lunch, and a walk through the city’s streets felt just the way to pass the time. Stopping in the hall to tell the housekeeper she would be out until after lunch, she retrieved her hat and gloves and headed out into the late morning sun. 

She made her way leisurely towards the post office, strolling along the wide bustling streets and across the little park at the end of the boulevard, delighting in the noise and life of the city. After posting her letter to Meg, she wandered almost aimlessly, paying little to no mind where her feet carried her. She ducked into a few of her favorite shoppes at the center of town, and heard the belltower of a nearby church tolling half past twelve. As she glanced around in search of a cab she might flag down to take her to the restaurant where she was due to meet her fiance, she felt a sudden strange tugging at the hem of her skirts. Puzzled, she looks down turning on the spot in hopes of catching the culprit, but saw nothing. The next moment she felt a light tapping on her shoulder and whirled around again, and found herself face to face with a Capuchin monkey, perched on a nearby lamppost. It was dressed in the small hat and vest of an organ grinder’s pet, and was gazing at her expectantly.

“Hello there!” Christine with a little laugh, she was rather enchanted by her new acquaintance, whom she found rather delightfully familiar. “Where did you come from?” The monkey screeched in reply, and scurried down from the lamppost, but not before snatching one of her gloves, which she now carried in her hands rather than on them. “Hey! That’s mine! Come back with that!” she was still laughing lightly at the clever little trickster as she glanced around, looking either for the culprit or his master. … It was only a glove after all. But after a moment’s scanning she caught sight of him, only a few paces away. He had stopped and turned back to look at her, but screeched, and shot off again when he realized she’d spotted him. Hitching up her skirts in one hand so as not to trip she set off after him, moving as quickly as she could with her voluminous bustle.

She followed him along the busy boulevard for a stretch, before he turned down a side street, still jumping and screeching almost as though he were beckoning her to follow. They turned down a street to the left, and then left again, and then down and alley to the right. Another left and another right, when at last Christine found herself in a large plaza. She glanced around again but could see no sign of her new little friend. Christine sighed, nearly ready to give up, when she felt another sudden pull at her skirts, but more insistent this time. Before she knew what had happened, the small monkey had clambered onto her shoulder, and dropped her stolen glove back into her hand. 

“Gustave!” The scolding voice made her jump, and look around. “Gustave! What have I told you about this!” It belonged to a short and rather portly man with a bald patch on his head that was beginning to show in earnest, but an incredibly luscious black mustache. At the sound of his voice the small monkey lept from her shoulder and scurried towards the man, who was, in turn, hurrying towards the pair of them as quickly as he could whilst lugging his street organ with him. Following the little monkey, Gustave, Christine met the man half way. 

“A thousand pardons mademoiselle, I’m afraid He’s never learned much in the way of manners.” 

“Not at all! Our little friend, has made for an incredibly diverting little adventure! Gustave is it?” She said, turning her attention back to the monkey with a soft smile. “That was my father’s name….. And he was never particularly the trainable type either!” She added with a light laugh as her mind filled with warm and happy memories of the best man she had ever known. 

“Mademoiselle is too kind!” the little man said, inclining his head “Perhaps a song? To compensate the Mademoiselle for her trouble.” 

“I should like nothing better!” 

The man began to turn the handle of his little instrument, and Christine for the first time glanced up at their surroundings and felt a shudder run down her spine, the man, and his little monkey were standing on the steps of the Opera House. Her lips parting in surprise as the realization dawned on her, Christine took a step back, drinking in the sight of the place she had once called home for the first time in over a year. Blinking once or twice to clear her head she tried to focus on the man’s music.. But that sent shivers through her too. There was something about it, eerie and ethereal, it was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. 

“What is that you are playing Monsieur?” She asked, doing her utmost to keep her voice steady. 

“Y’know… I don’t rightly know, Mademoiselle…” He’d stopped playing, the hint of a frown wrinkling his forehead as he remembered. “I just… found it y’see. Right here! On the steps of the Opera House! I’d had a bit of a run of hard luck; and then it just.. Appeared there one day. So I play it here each and every day!” He ended his speech with a satisfied smile.

“When?” 

“What?” the man replied clearly confused by her interest.

“When did you find it.” She was breathless, her voice barely above a whisper when she spoke. 

“No more than a month or so ago I’d say… Why do you know it?” 

“I …” she hesitated, not really sure what to say. When a sudden tolling of church bells saved her from having to answer properly. One O’clock! It was One O’clock! She was going to be late to meet Raoul! “I.. I have to go! I’m so sorry! And… Thank you.” Quickly pressing a few coins into the man’s hand she turned on her heel to flag down a hansom cab. Climbing inside she gave the driver the name of the restaurant where she was to meet Raoul, and sat back, taking a long steadying breath. The drive was a relatively short one but Christine’s mind was racing, all the while her fingers absentmindedly drumming the rhythm of the organ grinder’s music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I rag on LND but my trash heart does hold it in a weird sort of place so yes, there are and absolutely will be little nods to it here and there in this fic because... why not?
> 
> Also yes there is a very specific homage to a very specific actress tucked into this chapter and if you catch it bravo, lets be besties :)


	3. Half Way Real

Chapter 3: Half Way Real

Meg darted up the steps outside the Opera House and slipped past the newly employed security which stood watch at the doors. It wasn’t particularly difficult, she was a familiar face to them, and had every reason to be coming and going. Though the Opera House had not yet reopened to the public following the completion of its restoration after the fire, rehearsals for the production which was to serve as its grand reopening were already underway. And while the large basket tucked under her arm might have seemed a bit conspicuous, a bright smile and a word or two about errands for her mother, and no more questions would be asked. No one, not even hired muscle wanted to spar with the formidable Madame Giry.

Humming softly to herself, she made her way through several massive and opulent halls, up several grand staircases, Though the small door which led into the backstage areas, less lavish than the areas of the theatre meant for the public, but these halls held magic of a different kind. Down corridors of dressing rooms, and back down several small flights of stairs, Meg found herself in wings of the Opera House’s massive stage. She had made this journey countless times now, and after what felt like a lifetime of dancing and performing, of working and practically living within its walls she knew this grand old edifice as well as she knew her old home, and yet, she also knew it kept many of its own secrets of which she was still unaware. 

Grateful that she had met no one on her way in, Meg glanced around once more to ensure she was unobserved, before she reached out and pulled on the small black lever, nearly invisible unless one knew precisely where it was located. Without a sound, an opening appeared in the wall. The space beyond was so dark that this too might have gone unnoticed until one had walked straight through it. Pausing only briefly to light a lamp, which she held aloft, Meg crossed the threshold, and the door slid closed behind her once more. Further and further down she went, down rickety dark staircase after rickety old staircase. While the rest of the Opera House had been restored to its former magnificence, the hidden and secret places still bore the scars of the fire, and were somewhat less stable than they once had been. 

…. And its infrastructure was not alone in that, Meg thought as she reached the base of the finat set of stairs. She could hear music drifting across the underground lake at the edge of which she now stood. The kind of eerie and beautiful, almost discordant, music that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. A languished and melancholy sound that brought tears to your eyes without your ever really knowing why. It was the sound of a broken heart. 

Meg sighed, a combination of pity and exasperation, as she scanned the edge of the water until she found the few charred planks of wood that had come down in the fire and now served as a small makeshift bridge across the lake. Stepping lightly, Meg crossed it with ease, as she had done dozens of times before.Reaching the other side, she followed the sound of the music. He didn’t notice hear her approach, or if he had, he paid her no mind, his fingers continuing to dance passionately across the keys of the organ from which the music emanated. Meg stopped just once he had fully come into view and she had entered the main chamber of his underground dwelling. She didn’t want to disturb him; and the music was so beautiful and so heart achingly full of emotion she delighted in having the chance to just stand and listen. The sound wrapped around her and seemed to sink right into her, and then abruptly, it stopped. Meg opened her eyes in time to see him slam his hands down onto the keys in frustration. 

“Damn!” Meg jumped slightly, letting out a small sound of surprise at the sudden and jarring exclamation. He whirled around on the spot, catching sight of her. Meg glanced down, slightly embarrassed at having been caught entering unannounced, but that seemed to be the least of his worries at the moment. “It’s garbage!! Rubbish!! All of it!” He had been looking at her when he spoke, but seemed more to be shouting in her direction than really directing the words to her. With an angry, guttural growl, he spun back around, grabbing fistfuls of sheet music and crumpling it in his hands as a few stray sheets fluttered to the ground. “Rubbish! Garbage!” He punctuated the words by tossing the crumpled sheets to the floor. 

“Monsieur! No!” Meg gasped, as one of the painstakingly written pages of music fluttered dangerously close to the open grate of the fireplace that had been built into the wall. Darting forward, Meg caught it up before it could be consumed by flame and did her best to smooth it out again. His sudden rage seemingly extinguished as quickly as it had come on, he sunk down onto the small bench next to the organ and buried his face in his hands. Straightening up, Meg placed her basket on the small table near the fire and crossed to him. Unsure quite what to say she hesitated for a moment before reaching out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder, but he swatted it away.

“It’s shit.” he growled, glaring moodily up at her as though that were somehow her fault. 

“It’s not.” she replied blankly. She knew better than to try to articulate to him just how wrong he was, or to express just how utterly brilliant he was. He might have found a sense of confidence and bravado in his role as the Opera Ghost, but when it came down to it, he was determined to hate himself, just as he had been taught to his whole life, just as he had taught himself to do, and there was nothing that Meg could do about it, except to contradict it as often as she could. Even if he would never truly believe her, he knew all of this just as well as she did, and nonetheless appreciated her attempts. With a sigh, his expression softened and he looked away from her, back to the scattered mess of music at their feet. Meg followed his gaze for a moment and then stooped to retrieve a few more of the papers. 

“Leave them.” he shot out stonily before meeting her gaze, and softening once again. “Leave them Meg, I’ll take care of this, Let’s see what you’ve got in that basket of yours” He offered her a kind, if heavy looking smile which she returned with a quick nod. Turning and crossing back to the table on which she had left the basket, she opened it, as he quickly gathered up the damaged music, and with minimal effort to flatten it back out, shoved it messily back onto the organ and joined Meg by the table. She pulled from the basket a loaf of bread, some cheese, a crock of some kind of soup, some sliced meat, a dish of asparagus cooked in butter and garlic, and a large casserole dish filled with some kind of quiche, a few small pastries and a bottle of wine. “Your mother is far too generous.” He said gazing down at the spread. “You must thank your mother for me… again.”

“It’s not my mother you ought to be thanking, you should see her try to cook.” Meg chuckled lightly. 

“Ahh yes, the prodigious Madame Beaulieu…” He picked up one of the pastries and nibbled at it. “Truly an artist! …. Out of curiosity, who is it that you tell her all of this is for?”

Meg Shrugged “We told her mother has an invalid friend.” 

“Not altogether untrue.” He said with a short bark of a laugh. Meg made to close the basket but he caught hold of her small gloved hand before she could. The hand that he had so vigorously swatted away mere minutes ago. “Thank you, Meg.” 

“I didn’t mean …” She glanced up at him, but almost immediately looked away again. He was still holding onto her hand and she could feel the hint of a blush rising in her cheeks. 

“I know.” He said intuiting the rest of her sentence “But nonetheless, thank you, not just for this..” one of his hands released her’s to gesture to the food laid out on the table. “But for all you’ve done, you have saved me from myself on more than one occasion.” Misreading her unwillingness to look at him, he released her hand, which in turn drew her gaze back to him. She still didn’t precisely know what to say, and was rather taken aback at his sudden show of gratitude, more often than not she thought he barely even noticed her coming and going. She smiled, pleased to know that at the very least she wasn’t completely invisible. 

“Well then..” She said after a moment’s silence “I suppose you’ll have to repay me, by not giving up.” and nodded in the direction of the disheveled and uncompleted music atop the organ. His expression was unreadable, but she thought she saw the flicker of what might have been a smile in the corner of his mouth not hidden by the mask. He made no further response but turned back to the table, taking up the pastry he had previously abandoned and offering her the plate piled with the delicious treats. 

“Would you care to join me, Miss Giry?” Meg hesitated, taken aback yet again. He had never done that before, invited her to stay as though they were truly friends. Sensing her apprehension he shook his head. “You are of course free to leave should you wish. I assure you, my days of kidnapping young ladies are well and truly over.” Meg laughed in spite of herself. Well! He was making jokes! That was something! Sometimes when she came by, he wouldn’t even speak, let alone be making her laugh. Meg took a pastry from the tray and the two of them settled into chairs near the fire, both gazing into it and nibbling on pastries in companionable silence for a while. 

“I hate it here.” he said after a long while, still gazing into the flames. The heaviness had returned to his voice, and Meg’s gaze moved to from the fire to his face, but she said nothing, waiting for him to continue. “Everything… just…. Reminds me…. Everyday.” It wasn’t as though he had every really felt as though he belonged anywhere, but the Opera House was the closest thing he had ever known to a home…. “I feel as though I don’t really exist at all… I’ve truly become the ghost I always sought to be.” 

“Then why do you stay Monsieur? You could leave this place.” Meg said quietly, he turned his head to look at her, masked face bathed in fire light and offered her the saddest smile that Meg had ever seen. 

“I cannot.” he said simply, and that was all. 

*****

Hours after the sun had set and Meg had long since departed, Erik climbed the many sets of stairs, darting through hidden passage after hidden passage. It was well after the last of the Opera House’s inhabitants had gone home, leaving Erik the freedom to move about his domain but by now he had learned the fastest route to the rooftop, and he utilized it. Stepping out into the brusque night air Erik He closed his eyes, letting the gentle breeze wash over him. He climbed atop the angel from which he liked to perch and gazed down at the nightlife of Paris. Even now, the lights and sounds of the city were alive; but with a softer more secret sound than during the day. 

There was a part of him that wished he could do as Meg had advised, leave it all behind, the joy the pain, the music the life, but he knew he never could. Even with the pain, the way his heart would break over and over again with every memory, but he was becoming accustomed to the feeling. What had started as an absolute and overwhelming anguish, had mutated into a dull ache, but that too was now a part of him. It was all bound up together,every great and meaningful moment of his life had happened here, every glimpse of happiness he had and the greatest most profound of losses. The future held nothing for him now, and all his most treasured memories were here, even if he could bring himself to leave, what would he have left to hold on to if he did?

He gazed out into the night, taking in the horizon line where the shimmering stars met the tops of buildings and the glittering lights of the city. Letting out a soft sigh, he whispered her name into the night, almost like a prayer. “ _ Christine”.  _ A familiar tune drifted up from below, and Erik glanced down to see the organ grinder and his monkey in the street below, playing his music. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo Meg is the most underappreciated human in existence.... 
> 
> her crush is cuter when she is also telling him he is an idiot... 
> 
> also these two are basically my BroTP now.... like? oops? 
> 
> Meg Giry: Cleaning up after Christine Daae since 1881


End file.
